


Show Me My Heart

by lightinthehall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Pre-Series, Voyeurism, Weecest, underage!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightinthehall/pseuds/lightinthehall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't know if the curse reveals his heart’s greatest wish, or his future, but he aches with wanting, heart beating impatiently, wondering when he'll get to touch – to love – Dean that way.</p><p>(Newly edited. Written for chomaisky (LJ) for the prompt '<i>Hall of Mirrors</i>' for the 2015 spnspringfling)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Newly edited. Written for chomaisky (LJ) for the prompt 'Hall of Mirrors.' Original (non-edited) post here at [spnspringfling](http://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/124312.html).  
> Edited [here](http://souslelys.livejournal.com/43347.html).
> 
> (Spring Fling is a double blind art/fic challenge. Prompts are sent out, and creators have 1 week to submit fic/art. Fics must be within 500-2500 words. I encourage everyone to check out the rest of the works!)

“Hey. _Earth to Sammy,_ ” Dean says, all Big Brother, toothbrush jabbing between Sam’s ribs before leaning over to spit into the sink. “Quit daydreaming. You’ve got five minutes, pipsqueak.”

Wide-eyed and slow, Sam pushes through the white noise in his head and wills his arm to move, toothbrush dragging over his molars where it had been stationary for the past minute. Dean’s turned back to the mirror, gelled fingers quickly running through his short hair, pink tongue peeking between his teeth and clearly oblivious to the heated embrace playing out right in front of him.

Luckily, the dim lighting in the motel bathroom masks the blush unfolding across Sam’s face. He’s hallucinating. Vividly. Must be. Sam blinks, then blinks again.

It’s still there.

“I’m serious Sam, five minutes,” Dean repeats as he ruffles Sam’s hair and leaves.

Dean’s reflection leaves with him, extracting himself from Sam-in-the-mirror’s arms and walking out of frame with significantly messier hair, and noticeably swollen lips.

 _His_ Dean is nagging at him from the other side of the door, but Sam can barely hear over the thundering of his pulse.

0-0-0

Dad’s nose, dark brown hair grown longer than Sam’s ever had it, light hazel-green eyes. He picks apart the details again and again; the conclusion never changes.

Sam’s never been particularly vain, would rather avoid being reminded of his gangly teenage limbs and his perpetual baby face. But that’s not who he sees in the mirror anymore.

His reflection is at least ten years older than him, typical Winchester-plaid stretching over wide shoulders and muscular arms. He’s grown up – he’s _handsome_.

Sam’s hands reach up to feel the roundness of his cheeks, then to his ears, grabbing at air while the mirror man’s fingers close over shaggy strands. Disappointment meets insecurity, wallowing in his chest. He can’t help but feel stuck on the wrong side of a Before-and-After spread.

 _This is who I will be_ , he thinks, poring uncomprehendingly over the transformation his 15 year old self will eventually take. He’s like two ends of a disjointed chain, has no idea how one links to the other.

The first time he sees Dean’s reflection, he has to stop himself from gasping out loud because Dean – Dean is _beautiful_. He’s always thought so, his annoying big brother too pretty to be real, but the Dean in the mirror (undeniably him: the expressive green eyes, the fan of his eyelashes over freckled cheeks, the pink, pouting lips) has clearly been gifted by time, rather than burdened by it. The Other Sam seems just as enamoured, staring at Dean with a soft, fond smile that Sam recognizes all too well.

Dean catches on to his sudden fixation with his reflection, and Sam is tempted to reveal his new secret, wants to tell Dean that his freckles don’t go away like he’s hoping, and that Sam loves it, loves _him_ – now and ten years from now.

“Never seen your face before, Sam-I-Am?”

Sam pays his brother no mind, too busy watching himself lean down (he’s _taller_ , oh _God_ ) and pressing smiling lips to Dean’s.

0-0-0

They had been after the spirit of a witch who’d been haunting an abandoned fairgrounds. He and Dean had entered the rickety, paint-peeled building that housed the ‘Hall of Mirrors.’ He remembers examining a peculiar frame – the sudden cold. Dean yelling. The world exploding.

He remembers waking up after, cradled in Dean’s arms and all the mirrors around them reduced to glass dust.

The air had been heavy with the smell of magic, like sweet, settling smoke. Turns out their father had found and torched the witch’s tent – _Marie-belle’s Matchmaking_ – just as her ghost had found Sam.

He blames the fervent, new-onset horniness for his missing the obvious. This must be a curse, some sort of death magic.

The thing is, Sam’s fairly certain he’s not supposed to _enjoy_ being cursed.

0-0-0

Dean’s across from him in the diner booth, pigging out on food and relaxing into the seats the way he does when Dad’s away and it’s just the two of them.

Sam’s own food is untouched, his stomach in knots as he dazedly watches Dean make out with him in the faint glare of the window, where Dean’s kissing him as enthusiastically as he’d downed his burger and fries beforehand. His large, adult hands are cupping Dean’s face, Dean’s fist still closed tight in his shirt from when he’d pulled the Other Sam over the booth table.

“Huh. Good eye Sammy, she’s a hot one.”

Distracted, he follows Dean’s gaze out the window where a leggy teenage girl is standing in the parking lot (just past the reflection of their heated kisses), talking to her friends. Dean is looking at her with the kind of appreciation that Sam can’t seem to swing his way with his awkward, lanky body – unlike Sam in the mirror, who claims Dean’s admiration so easily.

He doesn’t know if the curse reveals his heart’s greatest wish, or his future, but he _aches_ with wanting, heart beating impatiently, wondering when he'll get to touch – to love – Dean that way.

Dean-of-the-present is waggling his eyebrows at him, but Sam just rolls his eyes, stuffing fries into his dry mouth so he doesn’t have to respond. In his peripheral vision, the two of them are finally separating, panting and pressing their foreheads together, shiny, spit-slick mouths mere inches apart.

Sam’s lips tingle for hours.

0-0-0

He really is a researcher at heart, surrendering to the curiosity plaguing his mind until he finds his answers, and the curse provides a well of questions, factors and limits he’s eager to investigate. But there are just some things Sam does _not_ want to know.

Dean’s taken the Impala to fill up on gas before they left town, leaving Sam with their father to pack up. They’re loading their bags into the truck, and Sam is determined to avoid looking into the side mirror – or any other reflective surface, for that matter. It makes him nauseous, thinking about the possibility of the curse showing him –

\- he gags, bile rising at the thought, lodging in his throat.

In the end, it’s all for nothing. His eyes catch on a puddle pooling around a flooded storm drain right next to where his father’s standing, speaking gruffly into his phone.

His relief is heady. He doesn’t see his father’s reflection at all.

0-0-0

It quickly develops into an addiction.

The images follow him as they walk down the street: he and Dean are kissing, touching or groping in every window, every shine of metal they pass by. Sam learns to wear long shirts and baggy pants whenever they go out, feeling horny and inadequate and terrified of being caught out.

He’s not even safe in the Impala. Riding shotgun to his brother is usually his favourite place to be, especially when they’re alone, and their father is blazing ahead of them in his truck. Today, it provides new (delicious, tempting) torment as Sam presses his flushed cheek against the cool, passenger side window, eagerly taking in the sight of the Other Sam’s long body bending over the bench, head bobbing between Dean’s legs, spread encouragingly wide in the driver’s seat, a strong hand clenched tight in his hair.

He’s blindingly hard, tilting his hips away so Dean doesn’t notice. His dick throbs with the rhythmic grip of Dean’s hand, pulling at the Other Sam’s roots. His gaze jumps from window to the ‘V’ of Dean’s legs in quick succession, mouth watering with each passing minute. He can practically _hear_ the wet sounds and moans through the reflection – he’s two seconds away from lunging at Dean’s fly.

Sam almost cries with gratitude when they pull over, Dean hopping out to use the gas station restroom. Finally alone, one soft touch and Sam’s coming and coming into his boxers, mouthing desperately at the glass where their reflections just vanished.

By the time Dean gets back to the car, Sam’s shorts are sticky and uncomfortable, and he’s wiped the imprint of spit and condensation off the window.

0-0-0

Two weeks later, a swamp monster’s claws slash Sam’s thigh open. Quick as the Impala can take them, Sam’s laid up on the motel bed, pain killers diffusing through his veins. The room’s got a wide mirror on the wall across from the bed, but no towels or anything of use. Their father’s off buying more first aid supplies from the Pharmacy they sped by. In the meantime, Dean’s using his bunched up jacket to elevate Sam’s leg, and blankets for the blood while Sam watches his brother work through the mirror.

For once, their counterparts aren’t determined to sex each other up. The Other Sam is injured just like he is, laying back as Dean stitches the two of them up. He has a clear view of Other Dean’s face, the Big Brother Worry plain as day, but there’s a reverence to each movement, each gentle pull of the needle.

Guiltily glancing back to his 19 year old brother, Sam’s muddled mind is startled to see a matching expression on his face – Dean looks flayed open, like every pained breath Sam takes is tearing him apart. The Other Dean leans down to press soft kisses to each stitch he’s left in Sam’s skin. His Dean doesn’t, but Sam feels loved all the same.

0-0-0

Their first time (or rather, the first time Sam watches) is in a tacky retro motel, the only one for miles – the greasy-moustached desk manager shrugging at them, _Sorry only got singles left – you payin’ or not?_

Dad ends up in his own room, while Sam and Dean shuffle into the other, unspoken that they’ll share a bed tonight.

Exhausted, Sam settles onto his back, while Dean lies on his stomach, wrapping his arms around his pillow like someone might snatch it away while he sleeps. It’s been a while since they’ve shared, but they know their places, and Sam looks forward to the morning, when they’ll no doubt wake up, limbs tangled and inseparable.

There’s light shining in from the parking lot streetlamp, pouring through the window like a fog light. The ceiling sparkles and shines, and it takes Sam a moment to realize he’s staring up at tiled glass.

His eyes fly open, the scene above him making the skin under his shirt collar flush hotter than even the dirtiest porn Dean’s stolen from rental stores. The Others are naked, Dean’s freckled back exposed and bare, ending in the enticing curve of his round ass, and the long extension of bowed legs. He’s on top of Sam-in-the-mirror, trapping him against their bed, and they’re kissing, clinging to each other with raw desperation. Sam’s arms are around Dean’s neck, but Dean has one hand in Sam’s hair, and the other is moving out of view and – oh. _Oh._

Sam’s fully hard in an instant, back arching as he watches Dean’s arm work, slow thrusts that make the Other Sam jolt with each push. In the mirror, Dean continues his movements until the Other Sam hitches his hips up impatiently, mouth shaping around silent whines.

Long legs are hitched over Dean’s shoulders, bending him near in half and Sam gets half a glimpse of Dean’s cock pushing in, and his breath leaves his lungs as if he were the one being pressed into the bed.

Soon, Sam’s got his own pyjama pants pulled down to his thighs, and his hand is wrapped around his own dick, moving his fist to the sharp thrusts of Dean’s hips. Other Sam is burying his face into Dean’s neck, no doubt muffling his moans, but Sam’s got nothing to impede his gasps and whimpers. The visual feeds pleasure right into his spine, and Sam can feel it right down to his toes, curling and pulling up flat on the bed, wishing he could feel Dean above him – inside him too. Dean-in-the-mirror speeds his thrusts, both Sams caught in the rhythm, each of them arching and writhing desperately.

Like true reflections, they come at the same time, Dean’s name escaping from their lips like a shared prayer.

It’s pure bliss, and Sam melts into the bed, twitchy with the after-shocks of pleasure rumbling in a low thrum along his limbs. Fist and stomach covered in come, Sam tries to get a hold of his breathing, panting harshly into the quiet night.

“Sammy.”

Sam’s head whips around to _his_ Dean, who is wide awake and watching Sam with dark green eyes, lashes lowered intently. He’s frozen, can’t bring himself to move, not even when Dean rolls over him with dizzying grace, mumbling _Sammy_ again before finallyfinally _finally_ pressing warm lips to his.

It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like them-in-the-mirror ( _not yet,_ he thinks), but Sam feels like he could come all over again, nerves singing from the sweetest touch he’s waited so long for.

Sam lets his eyes flutter open for a brief moment, peeking up above to see the Other Dean collapsed and sleeping as Sam holds him close. Their eyes meet, Other Sam pressing the lightest kiss to Dean’s temple before smiling down at Sam, hand lifting in a small wave.

His Dean picks that moment to lick into Sam’s mouth, tongue curling along his, and Sam’s eyes fall shut as he traces Dean with soft, shy flicks.

When Dean pulls back, lips hovering a breath away from Sam’s, Sam spares one more glance at the tiled glass above.

He sees everything he’s ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also at [my LJ](http://souslelys.livejournal.com/43347.html)


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